


The Rose Adagio (and a Dream of Love)

by Eavenne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Crack, Established Relationship, F/M, Heartbreak, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavenne/pseuds/Eavenne
Summary: Over the long years of his life, Austria had slept with five different nations. Some of his experiences were fun; others, Austria regretted immensely. Even so, Austria's heart would only ever be Hungarian territory.Here are five stories about Austria, and the nations he's made love to.





	1. Spain; Verde Esmeralda

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has internal continuity, so I'd advise not skipping chapters. Additionally, the premise was inspired by KellerProcess' lovely fic, 'Ten Nations France has Loved'. Do check it out after you're done reading this. Enjoy! :)
> 
> Verde Esmeralda (Spanish) = "Emerald Green"

When Austria married Spain, he’d been prepared for an eventful wedding night. After all, Spain was famously good in bed – on hindsight, Austria realised he’d assumed that this fact meant Spain, whom he hadn’t known too well, was some kind of flirt, much like France.

Yet, when everything was said and done, and they approached their marriage bed, Spain turned to him.

“Goodnight!” he said cheerily, before yawning, closing his eyes, and flopping into bed, half-clothed. 

Austria blinked. After he stood there blankly for a while, Spain rolled over in the bed, propped himself up with his elbows, and opened his eyes. 

The newlyweds stared at each other for a few moments in mutual confusion, before Spain said, “Come on in, it’s quite comfortable! Aren't you tired?” and patted the empty half of the mattress next to him. 

Taking the invitation, Austria got into bed. Flipping to his side to get comfortable, Spain displayed his naked back to Austria, who turned to look at it in utter confusion.

It wasn’t that Austria particularly desired to sleep with his new husband – while he was curious about Spain’s reputation, Austria just saw the wedding night as something that came with marriage. Their needing to sleep together was so obvious to Austria that he was certain Spain had just forgotten. Perhaps a reminder was necessary.

“A-aren’t we supposed to sleep with each other?” he asked, somewhat embarrassed at having to say something so indecent.

Spain rolled over to face him. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?” 

For a short while, Austria was unable to form words. 

“Sex! I mean sex!” 

A few more seconds of silence passed between them, broken by a sudden burst of laughter from Austria’s new husband. Amazingly, Spain was completely unfazed by the look Austria shot him.

“Oh, you want to make love? Why didn’t you just say so?” Chuckling, Spain sat up, tugged his pants off, and kicked them to the floor – Austria stripped as well, finishing to find Spain already behind him.

Spain’s hand, gripping Austria’s shoulder, was warm, and when Austria twisted around to face him, the vivid emerald-green of his eyes made Austria’s vision swim. When Spain leaned in to kiss Austria’s throat, Austria looped his arms around Spain’s neck, and curled long fingers in his hair. 

That night, Austria slept with another nation for the first time. Spain played him like a violin, effortlessly teasing wonderful sensations from Austria’s stiff body. Austria could appreciate the musical quality in sex – the rhythm in their heavy breaths and pounding hearts, the occasional note of a moan or grunt, and a building crescendo. Even though he didn’t have anyone to compare with at the time, Austria felt certain that Spain was, indeed, amazing in bed. Sure, he’d known that achieving release was pleasurable, but he hadn’t known that it could be _that good_.

Over the course of their marriage, Austria grew to know Spain better. The man smiled easily and guilelessly, treating people around him with nothing but the utmost sincerity. Yet, he was no pushover – Spain was tough, and his enemies trembled before his battle-axe. Though he hadn’t had a choice in the matter, Austria decided that being married to Spain wasn’t bad – he wasn’t lecherous like France or insufferable like Prussia, and didn’t resent Austria like Switzerland did. 

While they made love on occasion, they never did love each other as a married couple should. Though they were on good terms, and respected each other greatly, nothing quite sparked between Austria and Spain. This didn’t particularly bother either of them, and so their lives together, at least on a personal level, were mostly rather peaceful. 

As Austria kept rediscovering, Spain was extremely flexible in bed – and not just in a literal manner, either. Their first time was slow and somewhat lazy, with Spain touching him almost lovingly, rubbing aches from Austria’s shoulders, and seemingly going out of his way to make sure that Austria felt comfortable. Other times, he’d come at Austria like an invader, marking his territory with fervent kisses and pressing nails, devouring every part of his body, or he’d let Austria take the lead, bucking under him like a wild horse that Austria was struggling to tame. No matter what they did, though, Austria found himself liking the experience tremendously. 

Even though he’d rather not be made to marry Spain again, Austria would never doubt that he’d enjoyed having Spain as his husband, in more than a few ways. 

Still, the days he’d spent with Spain stood like dust in comparison to those that Austria had counted with Hungary by his side.


	2. France; La Douleur Exquise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this fic has internal continuity, I'd advise reading it through in order. Additionally, Hungary's human name here is Erzsébet – pronounced "ER-zhay-bet". 
> 
> La Douleur Exquise (French) = The heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you know you can never have.

He’d first slept with France after Germany had occupied the nation during the Second World War. Somehow, a meeting in Berlin had led to France and Austria tumbling into the latter’s bed in Germany’s house, exchanging kisses, tearing off articles of clothing and throwing them on the floor in a manner that would’ve horrified Germany had he been present.

Unlike some of his later encounters, Austria had been sober for the entire occasion, but he didn’t quite know why he’d agreed to sleep with France. While Hungary had told him a few times that she didn’t care if he slept with other men, Austria had never gone looking to do so, and most certainly not with France. 

He supposed it had happened at least partially because he felt bad for France, as the man was separated from England, whom everyone knew was France’s on-and-off lover. And, likely most importantly, it seemed that when France _really_ wanted to get into someone’s pants, and wasn’t just teasing, he was rather good at having his way. 

The seduction of Austria began when France’s voice deepened, becoming low and coaxing yet remaining smooth as silk. All of a sudden, France’s hands were in the right places, his breath, smelling sweetly of strawberries, tickling Austria’s cheek in a strangely pleasant manner, his eyes fixed on Austria in a way which seemed to whisper that, _in that instant, there was no one else in the world he’d rather be looking at_.

Even as Austria told himself that it was all fake, that France was merely using him as a distraction from the pain of war, he felt himself being swept away in the arms of the nation whose heart was the City of Love. 

The sex itself wasn’t half bad. Like Spain, France had a reputation for being good in bed, which he certainly lived up to. The only downside was that, unlike Spain, France was annoyingly chatty afterward.

“So tell me, _ma petit fleur_ , was I better than dear _Espagne_?” said France, raising an eyebrow and smirking as he reached out to play with Austria’s cowlick. 

Turning red, Austria smacked the offending hand away. “Why did you have to call me that?”

France chuckled. “We just made love, silly _Autriche_. Surely I can call you whatever I want? Either way, you didn’t answer my question.” 

Even though France had actually been about as good, Austria decided to get back at him by answering in the negative. 

France, wearing an overly dramatic expression of horror, recoiled from him as though he’d been physically struck. “Surely not?” 

“I’m not going to answer such a vulgar question again.”

That annoying smirk returned, and France said, “Well, we’ll just have to stay here till you change your mind, then, won’t we, _Autriche_?” He reached out again, aiming for something other than Austria’s hair. 

Luckily, Germany chose that moment to loudly return home, slamming the door closed behind him while ranting about Italy to an accompanying Prussia. Instead of continuing with his stated objective, France chose to run out of the room, fully naked, just to be an annoyance.

Ignoring the chaos that was taking place outside, Austria dressed himself and walked out, pretending that nothing had happened. Even though everyone knew that he’d slept with France, no one brought it up – Germany was too polite (or embarrassed, or mortified that they’d done such a thing under his roof) to do so, and he’d sent a glare at his brother when Prussia, shaking with laughter, had tried to bring it up. Austria supposed Prussia had asked France about it afterwards, because he heard nothing more of it. 

That was the first time he’d slept with France. They had sex occasionally in the years after, sometimes with Hungary watching or participating. Even when she was present, France remained ridiculously talkative afterward, something that never changed as time went on. Despite that, as Austria listened to more of France’s post-coital musings, he began to realise that there might be more to the man than just perversion and making fun of others. 

One night, after they’d made love in Austria’s bed, France had actually tried to give him sex advice. 

“Listen, _Autriche_ – you must be wary about having drunken one-night stands. While they can be fun, the other party might yell at you afterwards. Be especially careful if you're making love to Arthur. That man turns into an entirely different creature when inebriated.”

“I’m shocked to get a lecture on responsible sex from you of all nations,” said Austria, busy cleaning his glasses. To his surprise, France ignored the comment, and continued on. 

“Even worse would be a one-night stand with someone who’s in love with you, assuming you don’t return those feelings – you’re still going steady with dear _Hongrie_ , aren’t you?”

“Yes, Erzsébet and I are fine.” 

“That’s good to hear.”

“And I don’t think I’m likely to have a drunken one-night stand, or sleep with someone who’s pining after me.” As far as Austria knew, Hungary had been the first and only person to ever fall in love with him.

“You never know, _Autriche_. It might very well happen one day.”

Putting on his glasses, Austria turned to look at France. The man seemed oddly pensive, and almost completely lost in his own thoughts. 

“When you feel amour for someone, _Autriche_ , and they lead you on, it becomes even more difficult for you to deal with your own heartbreak. You can have them for one night, but they’re not really yours to love forever. They might scream your name in a moment of passion, but they’ll never say the words that you really want to hear.” Sighing, France gazed, unfocused, at the wall behind Austria. 

Austria frowned. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

France’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. 

“ _Oui._ ”


	3. Prussia; Scheiße!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd recommend reading all the chapters in order, as this fic has internal continuity. This becomes more apparent starting from this chapter. Once again, Hungary's human name is Erzsébet (ER-zhay-bet). Enjoy!
> 
> Scheiße!!! (German) = Crap/Shit!!!

“What the fuck?!”

Austria woke to those words with a groan. _Gott_ , what was going on? He was sprawled, butt-naked, on what seemed like his kitchen floor, and it was cold, but his head was throbbing so badly, and his vision swam when he tried to raise his head. The curtains were failing to block out all of the light outside, and he distantly heard a bird chirping, so it was probably morning, right? Austria tried to recall the events that had led to his current situation, only to draw a blank on whatever had happened after he’d taken out a bottle of vintage wine to savour alone.

Did he have a hangover? It certainly seemed like it, though Austria didn’t think he’d suffered this much in the past. He supposed he’d drunk too much the previous night and taken a fall, which might explain the bruises on various parts of his bod–

“Hey, stupid aristocrat!”

And why the heck was Prussia talking to him?

He raised his head, and saw the silver-haired man sitting in front of him, not wearing a scrap of clothing, his naked body dotted by bruises and what seemed like…bites? 

Austria stared.

Prussia glared back at him. 

“Alright, what are _you_ doing in my house?” said Austria, sitting up with a grimace and looking away to try and locate his clothes. To his horror, the only thing he saw was his glasses, half-open and perched oddly on a teacup that rested on the floor for some unholy reason. While Austria’s glasses were very dear to him, they weren’t very useful in covering up any part of his body that he’d like to hide from Prussia’s gaze. 

Honestly, this all reminded him of the time Prussia had somehow gotten into his house and stolen his underwear, except this time it was worse because his pride wasn’t the only thing that was in agony.

“I don’t know, maybe you left your front door unlocked again, like the dumbass you are!” Prussia leapt to his feet, but stumbled and had to grab the table to steady himself. “ _Scheiße!_ ” 

“Honestly, I’m not surprised that you’re having trouble functioning, what with that overlarge ego of yours,” said Austria, standing up cautiously (and almost falling back to the floor, even so). He headed shakily toward his glasses, picked them up, and put them on. Even if they weren’t helping much, wearing them helped Austria feel a little more like himself. 

“Shut up, tightwad, you’re just jealous of my awesomeness. If _Hungary_ was here, you'd be swooning into her arms!” Austria heard Prussia step toward the further end of the kitchen, and supposed that he, too, was wondering where his clothes were. 

“Well, Erzsébet isn’t here, and I’d like you to kindly get the hell out of my house,” said Austria, walking out of the kitchen to continue his search for his clothes. 

“But what if she is? You know how much that woman likes watching you get sexed up by other men. She was probably hiding somewhere last night, giggling as she watched her good-for-nothing ex-husband get thoroughly whipped by the awesome Pru…”

Austria turned to stare at Prussia. 

Prussia stared back at him.

The realisation hit them both at the same time. 

Austria could not stop himself from smacking his forehead in utter mortification. What on earth had his drunken mind been thinking? Sleeping with France was bad enough, but _Prussia_? Had he gone insane? 

The sound of obnoxious hissing laughter reminded him that Prussia was still in his vicinity. While the man appeared to be deriving amusement from the situation, his grin was oddly twisted, and his laughter seemed almost strained. He pointed a finger at Austria.

“Well! It seems that you have had the fortune of having sex with the awesome me! How is your ass feeling?” Prussia yelled, ignoring the trembling in his finger. 

If Austria hadn’t been angry before, he most definitely was now.

“What did you just say?” he exclaimed, reddening. 

“Oh, I bet it’s really sore – almost as sore as you are when you lose to me! Kesesesese!” Prussia threw back his head and laughed, a tad shakily, at Austria.

“Excuse me? Do you even see the sheer number of bruises you have? And aren’t those love bites on your neck? Do I need to shove a mirror in your face, or has – has your inflated sense of self-worth warped not just your personality, but your vision as well? Have you _finally_ been blinded to reality?” Austria, distracted from his search for his clothes, stormed toward Prussia indignantly. 

“Hey, _I’m_ not the one who wears glasses! Besides, have you taken a good look at yourself, you damn aristocrat? Clearly, you have far more bruises on you than I do! And you have love bites too – see, there’s one right there, under your armpit!” 

“What manner of indecent, ignoble, illogical…idiot bites someone _there_ , of all places? I think that alone says far more about you than it does about me!” exclaimed Austria, scrambling for the vocabulary to appropriately colour his sentence (because swearing out loud was for uncultured people). He wished he could just bang out Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony on his piano to properly convey his message, but Austria would sooner sleep with Prussia again than play naked. 

“I can bite you wherever I want, because I’m awesome! Besides, don’t you know that I’m so much stronger than you? Obviously I’d top you till France and England are right about the end of the world being upon us! Remember Silesia? Your vital regions were in my hands before your _beloved Hungary_ had to sweep in to save your fat ass! And remember when we were all kids, and Hungary and I were still together? You were just as useless – _Switzerland_ had to bail you out so many damn times! Honestly, I don’t know why either of them put up with your crap for so long. No wonder both of them left you!” Folding his arms triumphantly, Prussia let out a loud bark of a laugh.

It was when he heard that infuriating sound that Austria’s irritation truly got the better of him. 

“Well, just _who_ is Erzsébet dating at the moment?” 

Prussia faltered at that, and struggled to keep his ridiculous grin in place. “I – I don’t care if she loves you, stupid Aust–“

“Okay, fine, whatever, I honestly don’t care which one of us was sticking it in the other,” Austria interrupted, feeling a twinge of guilt over what he’d said. Prussia was just…being _Prussia_ , and Austria hadn’t needed to rub it in. “Maybe we both did at different times, maybe we didn’t do that at all, but I don’t remember, and I don’t want to know. I’m tired, my head hurts, I don’t know if I can keep any food down, and I just want you to find your clothes and _scram_. And then I think we can both agree to never speak of this again.” Austria wondered if he’d ever been so tired of dealing with Prussia before. He was counting on the other man secretly being just as horrified with the situation as he was, even if Prussia was too proud to admit it.

“Actually, I would also really like to find my clothes and get out of your damn house, except I don’t see my stuff anywhere here! Seriously, if I had been sober, the sight of your naked body would’ve been enough to make me rethink my life decisions. Heck, if you banged all your neighbours, you’d probably find that they’re all more ripped than you are! Even _Liechtenstein!_ But I guess her crazy brother would probably shoot you first, so you’d lose either way.”

“While I am in complete agreement regarding not having sex with you, I think we should just focus on finding your clothes, so that you can go, and we can both forget that this ever happened.” With that, Austria turned and walked from the kitchen, looking for Prussia’s clothes. Austria could slowly locate his own clothes later, but for the time being, even if it meant being stark naked save his glasses, he wanted to get Prussia out of his house as soon as possible. 

“I think this is the first time I’ve actually completely agreed with you on something, Austria! And, honestly, probably the last time, too!” Austria heard Prussia follow him out of the kitchen, laughing to himself all the while.

Soon after, though, Prussia shut up. While Austria would usually be grateful for the sweet, sweet silence this entailed, he was too busy being horrified at the same thing that made Prussia stop cackling behind him. 

Their underwear, which the two had located in a bathroom near the kitchen, was tied together in an elaborate knot and resting in the sink. Two toothbrushes, crossed over each other, lay on top of them.

Gott, _just what had they been doing?_

Wordlessly, Austria untied their underwear and held Prussia’s out behind him for the other man to take. For the first time that day, Prussia refrained from making a stupid comment, and they clothed themselves in silence. 

They found the rest of their clothes all over Austria’s house and in similarly odd states. Their undershirts were folded neatly, but with Prussia’s folded smaller and inside Austria’s, hiding an air freshener within it. Their shirts and belts seemed like the victims of an effort to create “art” – Austria’s belt was shaped to look like a “P”, Prussia’s belt, lying to its right, appeared to depict the lowercase “a”, and their shirts, unbuttoned and flanking their belts on both sides, were spread out to resemble _angel wings_. And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that their pants seemed to be scissoring. Or that, just to drive the point home, lying on top of their scissoring pants were two pairs of scissors. _The scissors were scissoring as well_. 

At the end of it all, Prussia and Austria came to an unspoken agreement to pretend that none of this had ever happened. Prussia left without incident, shaking and a tad pale, and Austria spent some time throwing up in the “underwear” bathroom after he tried to eat a sandwich, only for his stomach to disagree with him. 

Neither of them could bear to bring the event up in conversation for a few solid years, until Prussia let it slip while at a bar with France and Spain, and the entire world laughed for a whole week at the two nations’ expenses. Even Hungary, sympathetic as she was to Austria’s plight, found it hard to hide her amusement when she’d heard about the state he’d found his clothes in. Honestly, the only good thing that came out of the entire fiasco was that Prussia stopped invading Austria’s house to drink his fine wine for a long while after. 

Even so, while he’d have happily done without the experience of sleeping with Prussia (or, well, the experience of _having slept with_ the man, since he didn’t remember the actual sex), when he looked back a few years later, Austria couldn’t say that Prussia was the person he regretted sleeping with the most.

No, this wouldn’t be the last time that Austria had a drunken one-night stand with someone, and Austria regretted that incident far more than sleeping with Prussia.


	4. Switzerland; Clair de Lune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions the incident that took place in the previous chapter, so do read that first. In this fic, Austria's human name is Roderich and Switzerland's is Basch. Also, while I did do research, I'm not 100% sure that the fic is historically accurate. Lastly, Switzerland is my favourite character, and this is probably my favourite chapter as well. Enjoy!
> 
> Clair de Lune (French )= The Light of the Moon/ Moonlight
> 
> Clair de Lune (Music, Debussy) = The third movement of the piano suite "Suite Bergamasque" by Claude Debussy, published in 1905. The name comes from a French poem by Verlaine. (Feel free to loop the piece while reading the fic.)
> 
> Clair de Lune (Poem) = A French poem written by Paul Verlaine in 1869. It is the inspiration for Debussy's piece above. Here are some lines (English translation from Wikipedia): "...While singing in a minor key / Of victorious love and easy life / They don't seem to believe in their happiness / And their song mingles with the moonlight, / With the sad and beautiful moonlight, / Which makes the birds in the trees dream / And sob with ecstasy the water streams, / The great slim water streams among the marbles."

They’d been friends, once. 

Back when Austria still smiled freely and didn’t realise how brutal the world could be, Switzerland had been his first friend and ally, rescuing him from his enemies and trying to teach him to fight. Even when Austria hadn’t been successful and Switzerland was stuck saving him, the two only grew closer. 

Of course, thanks to the actions of Austria’s bosses, the once-inseparable childhood friends began to argue. Things they’d once found endearing about the other quickly became enraging instead. Their happiness gave way to hate, and all their affection crumbled into anger. On the battlefield, Switzerland fought bitterly to chase Austria from his home. After that, they didn’t speak for a very long time.

They’d gotten well into their adulthood before Austria could walk into a room without Switzerland leaving in response, as his childhood friend held a grudge against him for the way he’d been treated in the past. Yet, Hungary eventually suggested that Austria try and get along with Switzerland – it seemed that Switzerland’s adopted sister, Liechtenstein, who was friendly with both parties, had expressed a wish for them to be on better terms. 

Even though Austria was convinced that reconciling with Switzerland was most definitely impossible, he nonetheless began to make a more serious attempt at not provoking the man, and tried to be nicer to him. Somehow, Switzerland seemed to reciprocate, and appeared to be making an effort at reigning in his hot temper (Austria suspected that Liechtenstein had asked her brother to give him a chance). 

As years passed, the animosity that Austria’s childhood friend had brandished like a knife began to lose its edge, and was cast away as time passed. Switzerland gradually stopped snapping at Austria in irritation, Austria refrained from insulting him back, and they were able to converse civilly whenever they saw each other.

Whenever they did see each other, Austria would usually ask Switzerland to lunch – to his surprise, the latter eventually began to foot the bill every other time. Unlike the stony silence of their first time eating together as adults, the two talked about politics, or business, or Switzerland’s favourite topic, Liechtenstein. (Austria began to note that, whenever Switzerland mentioned his sister, his expression softened almost imperceptibly). After all that had happened between them in their many long years of life, Austria had never thought that he’d be able to sit in a café with his childhood friend, exchanging anecdotes and debating on current affairs. 

As the years went by and they spent more time together, Switzerland gradually relaxed, and slowly started lowering his guard around Austria. He began to talk about things that were dear to him – well, other than his sister, that was. Once, Switzerland spoke to Austria at length about how he found gardening oddly therapeutic, and asked for Austria’s opinion on his plans for his front yard. A discussion about their shared national flower, the _edelweiß_ , followed, which Austria found surprisingly engaging.

In many respects, Switzerland himself was very much the same person that Austria had been so close to when they were children. While he was just as paranoid as Austria remembered, Switzerland had also retained the traits that Austria had found so admirable in the past – his amazing work ethic, unshakable mettle, and deep compassion. Austria himself had changed drastically – the child whom Switzerland had protected was almost nothing like the adult who had married Spain and then Hungary. 

When Austria had managed to trip and land on his face on the way home from shopping at Switzerland’s place once, he’d decided to stop by the other man’s house for convenient first aid. They’d started repairing their relationship over a decade ago, and Austria believed he wouldn’t seriously anger Switzerland by asking for help. 

To Austria’s surprise, instead of the chiding he’d expected, Switzerland only made a few comments about how Austria was as clumsy as always before letting him in, placing his groceries in the refrigerator, and patching him up. He even made coffee afterwards. 

When Austria brought up the subject of payment, Switzerland waved it away.

“As long as you don’t make this a habit, I don’t really mind,” he said, putting down his cup. Austria raised an eyebrow. 

“Coming from you, such altruism is rather unusual, considering I am fully willing and able to pay,” said Austria. While he knew Switzerland wouldn’t turn down a person in need, it was unlike him to reject payment as well, if the person could afford it. 

His childhood friend flushed, and looked away. “W-well, you’ve treated me to lunch more times than I’ve treated you.”

“I was the one offering, so you’re not in my debt, or anything like that.”

Taking a breath, Switzerland met Austria’s questioning gaze. “I know, but isn’t it normal to want to do favours for your friend?” 

Austria blinked. Had Switzerland just called him his –

“Listen, _Österreich_. I know we’ve been on bad terms for a long time, and that – that I was very angry with you for years, but I think we could be friends again,” said Switzerland, his voice soft. As he lifted his cup to take a sip of his coffee, Switzerland’s face was still slightly red with what was most likely embarrassment. 

“I’d love to be your friend, _Schweiz_ –” Austria started, but Switzerland held up a hand to stop him. 

“Call me Basch,” he said. 

Ah. Austria hadn’t used Switzerland’s human name since they’d had their falling out – this was quite the gesture from the other man. 

He nodded. “Basch, I’d love to be your friend again.” Austria paused, but felt compelled to continue. “And I’m sorry.”

Switzerland frowned. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m…sorry for how my bosses and people treated you in the past. You had a right to be mad at me. I shouldn’t have responded by getting angry at you in return, and I should have tried harder to stop them.” 

This was one of the many regrets that Austria had been carrying with him for a long time. If he had just been able to weather Switzerland’s rather justified fury without retaliating, or been more proactive in trying to talk others out of exploiting Switzerland’s land and people, they _might_ have been able to remain friends even when their countries were at war. Back when Switzerland had flatly refused to suffer his presence, Austria hadn’t dared to apologise, and even as they repaired their relationship, bringing the matter up had seemed dangerous. 

Shaking his head, Switzerland put down his cup once more. “It’s alright. I understand. It wasn’t your decision to make, and I…well, I might have taken what I saw as your inaction too personally. Look, I can’t forgive your bosses for what they did to my home, Roderich, but I…I can forgive _you_.” 

The bad blood between Austria and Switzerland had festered for so many years that Austria was shocked by how easily he’d been let off the hook. In the face of his friend’s ready forgiveness, Austria felt his heart grow lighter. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Basch. This really means a lot to me.“

For a few seconds, a small, sincere smile softened Switzerland’s expression – but then the moment was over, and Switzerland lifted his cup and drank quickly, as if he were trying to hide his gentler side from his friend. 

To thank Switzerland for being so kind to him, Austria invited him over to his house, which led to a cycle of them paying each other visits. 

Once, Switzerland had served Austria chocolate, claiming he’d made too much for Liechtenstein to finish. It was absolutely heavenly, and Austria said so, telling Switzerland that it was even better than he’d expected. Instead of boasting about how his country made some of the best chocolate in the world, Switzerland just flushed self-consciously and said he was glad that Austria liked it, but Austria could have sworn he’d seen a shadow of a smile on his friend’s lips. 

In turn, Austria would play the piano for Switzerland whenever the latter visited him. The two were on such good terms that when Austria played the Finale of Rossini’s William Tell Overture, Switzerland did not take offense. Instead, he was amused by the irony of Austria playing a piece from an opera that paid homage to a Swiss folk hero famous for shooting a tyrannical Austrian officer. 

It was on one such visit to Austria’s house that everything fell apart.

The first few years of their being on speaking terms had been marked by Switzerland growing increasingly fond of Austria’s company. Slowly but surely, he had opened up to Austria once more, and they’d even started approaching the level of closeness the two had shared in their childhood. However, Austria had begun to notice that, in recent months, Switzerland had started to close up. Gone was the unguarded warmth he’d shown Austria, replaced instead by an odd mixture of tension and evasiveness. 

Convinced that Switzerland was trying to hide something from him, Austria attempted to ask his friend what was wrong on multiple occasions, but Switzerland just kept looking away nervously and changing the subject. This refusal to be straightforward on Switzerland’s part was so unlike him that Austria just became more determined to find out what was bothering him. While they still spoke regularly online, Switzerland had even started making excuses to avoid seeing Austria face-to-face. 

Therefore, when Austria finally managed to get Switzerland to visit (after some rather unsubtle guilt tripping), he was determined to pry an answer from his friend before he’d let Switzerland go home. Not that Austria could really stop Switzerland if he tried to force his way out, but Austria was resolved to try, regardless. 

So, after he’d checked if Switzerland had anything important to do on the day following their dinner, Austria decided to ply Switzerland with his collection of fine wine till the man’s tongue loosened. While Austria had taken a hard lesson from his experience with Prussia (which had recently become public knowledge), making him wary of drinking alone with someone else, Austria couldn’t think of any other way to make Switzerland talk. (Liechtenstein had claimed she hadn’t noticed anything, and it did seem that the only person Switzerland was acting strangely around was Austria). 

Half an hour before Switzerland was supposed to arrive for dinner, Austria looked out to see a storm brewing on the horizon. A chilly gust of wind assaulted his clothes, and Austria shivered. This did not bode well for the confrontation looming ahead. However, heavy rain might deter Switzerland from leaving. Austria might even be able to convince his friend to try and wait out the storm, giving him more time to get Switzerland drunk.

Dinner proceeded relatively normally. While Switzerland was more quiet than what used to be the norm, he still listened attentively to Austria’s talk, and responded frequently. Whenever Switzerland reached for his glass (which happened often, as the wine was honestly quite amazing), Austria felt a jolt of guilt – he knew Switzerland really wouldn’t appreciate the trick that Austria was trying to pull on him.

Austria knew he couldn’t outdrink Switzerland, so he opted to take it slow, hardly ever taking a sip of wine. However, when Switzerland noticed and asked Austria why he was barely touching his glass, Austria was forced to start drinking at a more normal pace. 

Unsurprisingly, Austria, who was more of a lightweight, found himself growing tipsy. The moment they were done eating, Austria dragged Switzerland to the piano, made sure his friend had a bottle of wine at hand so he wouldn’t run out of drinks, and sat down to perform as an excuse to stop drinking himself. 

Gazing out the window, Austria saw that it was nighttime, and that the bad weather had finally arrived. There was supposed to be a full moon, but the storm was hiding it from view like a jealous lover. 

Well, Austria would just have to make up for it. An odd calm fell upon him; he closed his eyes, and felt waves lapping at his ankles under the mournful moonlight. Placing his hands on the keys, Austria let Debussy’s Clair de Lune flow through his fingers, the music taking his hand and guiding him through the dark storm in search of the bright moon. Alone but not lonely, wandering but not lost, he soared through the night sky – the bright beauty of the moon was etched in his mind and heart, and he cried out his love to the dark skies. An increasingly impassioned lament gave way to soothing sighs; the rough waves became gentle once more as the storm faded and the moon’s calm eye gazed upon the boundless ocean. A deep love and admiration breathed with every note, but the moon was too distant to hear it. Slowly, the waves washed away every last trace of feeling. 

Only silence was left to fill the still air. 

When it was over, Austria was left breathless. The music seemed to have had a similar effect on his audience – when Austria turned to him, Switzerland’s eyes were bright with emotion, and he didn’t move a muscle. 

“That was beautiful,” Switzerland said softly, slowly setting down his glass. Austria smiled at his friend, and, to his surprise, received a small, almost shy smile in return. For a few moments, everything seemed back to normal between them. 

After Austria performed a few more pieces, his friend declared that it was late, and got up to leave. Like Austria had hoped, he managed to convince Switzerland to stay longer by asking him to consider waiting out the bad weather. 

So, Switzerland strode back to the bottle of wine on the table, filled both their glasses, and offered one to Austria. When Austria turned it down, Switzerland muttered something about it being weird to be the only one drinking, and watched Austria expectantly. To accommodate his friend, Austria reluctantly took the glass, reasoning that Switzerland had already downed a fair bit of wine and would feel its effects soon enough.

On hindsight, that might have been one of the stupidest decisions Austria had ever made in his long life. Sure, he managed to get Switzerland drunk, but Austria hadn’t fared much better. Even though he tried to dominate their conversation to avoid having to drink as often, Austria didn't have much capacity for liquor. 

Despite trying to focus on the main objective, Austria found it incredibly difficult to concentrate on anything other than the warm feeling in his chest. He’d try and press Switzerland on what was bothering him, but even when drunk, Switzerland remained frustratingly evasive. The only thing that Austria got out of him was the random revelation that Switzerland apparently had a crush on him when they were younger, which was news to Austria. Switzerland, distressed by his love for Austria that ran contrary to his people’s hatred, lashed out at Austria in pain and confusion, leading to the arguments that had destroyed their childhood friendship. 

“But that was a long time ago,” Switzerland quickly added, his face red, and then proceeded to change the subject before Austria could say a word. 

Oddly, Switzerland’s choice of topic was Austria’s sex life (the fact that Switzerland brought it up and Austria was willing to talk about it just reflected how drunk they both were). Austria ended up explaining how he’d slept with Prussia without Hungary considering it cheating – she didn’t really care if Austria had sex with other men. An awkward silence fell upon them after he’d said that, and Switzerland slowly put down his glass. 

Austria was about to press Switzerland on the main issue of the day again, when his friend took a few sudden, heavy steps forward, stopping inches in front of Austria but not meeting his eyes. Reaching out hesitantly, Switzerland took Austria’s hand. 

Having learned how to fight from Switzerland, Austria had observed the steadiness of his friend’s hands multiple times – but now those hands were trembling, and Austria suspected it was from more than just drunkenness. Perplexed, Austria squeezed Switzerland’s hand reassuringly, and placed a hand on his shoulder in concern. 

Slowly, Switzerland looked up, and Austria saw that his friend’s pupils were blown, his eyes deep dark wells of an emotion Austria couldn’t quite identify. Slipping his fingers between Austria’s, Switzerland continued to gaze at him, and Austria wondered if his friend had ever looked at someone so longingly before. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the rain continued to patter at the windows. Switzerland took a shaky breath. Then, he tilted his head up, and kissed Austria. 

It was a gentle, loving kiss, and an oddly chaste prelude to what Austria had assumed was Switzerland’s ultimate intention. If he’d been sober, Austria would have pulled away right then, but at the time he simply leaned down obligingly, deepened the kiss, and let Switzerland pull him closer. Even as the kiss grew more passionate, they stayed in place – Switzerland’s left hand gripping Austria’s shoulder with too much strength, as though he were afraid that Austria might disappear like the moon in the stormy sky – until Austria decided to take things forward, and reached for Switzerland’s belt. 

That night, they made love on Austria’s bed. The storm raged on, briefly illuminating the dark room with lightning, and throwing shadows under their embracing bodies. The room was cold, but Switzerland’s body _burned_ , and his kisses seared Austria’s skin. Whenever a flash of light lit up Switzerland’s face, Austria glimpsed a raw desperation in his friend’s expression that he’d never seen before. It was foreign and unsettling, but the inebriated Austria didn’t dwell on it. 

When it was all over, Switzerland buried his head in Austria’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Feeling the soft hand of sleep gently tugging at his eyelids, Austria gave in, lulled by the tapping rain and Switzerland’s comforting weight by his side. 

Just before Austria drifted into unconsciousness, Switzerland mumbled something into his shoulder, and Austria could sense the vibration of Switzerland’s throat, and the tickle of his warm breath. Even though Switzerland’s voice was muffled, Austria could still hear, and _feel_ , the words that spilled from his mouth. 

And then, sleep overtook his mind and Austria could perceive no more. 

The next day, Austria woke to find himself completely alone. Switzerland had disappeared with the storm, gone when Austria hadn’t been looking. Yet, his voice continued to ring in Austria’s ears, and it was then that Austria finally realised what Switzerland had been trying to hide from him. 

_“I…love you.”_


	5. Hungary; Liebestraum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story in this chapter comes at the heel of the incident in the previous chapter, and I highly suggest reading that one before this. Either way, Liechtenstein's human name here is Lilli, Austria's is Roderich, and Hungary's is Erzsébet (ER-zhay-bet). Additionally, if you'd like to listen to music while reading, start by looping Tchaikovsky's "Rose Adagio" and move on to Liszt's "Liebestraum no. 3" when the story shifts there. As usual, I did my research, but I can't guarantee that this fic is 100% historically accurate. Enjoy! 
> 
> Liebestraum (German) = Love Dream / A Dream of Love
> 
> Liebestraum no. 3 (Music, Liszt) = The last of three solo piano works about different kinds of love, composed by the Hungarian Franz Liszt and published in 1850. No. 3 is about unconditional mature love, and is based on the German poem 'O lieb, so lang du lieben kannst' (O love, as long as love you can) by Freiligrath. The poem itself is rather grave, but the music has a rather warm feeling to it. Liebestraum no. 3 remains one of Liszt's most famous pieces.

There were many things that Austria didn’t like about France, but there was one thing he had no choice but to admit.

Paris was a gorgeous city.

Austria had been to Paris on multiple occasions, mostly for World Meetings, but he still enjoyed taking a leisurely stroll around whenever he was there. While walking, he sometimes wondered if the elegance of France’s capital and heart meant that France’s usual inconsiderate behaviour was just some kind of elaborate act. Usually, though, Austria’s musings never really went anywhere, as he would quickly meet up with Hungary. 

Then, the charms of Paris could move him no longer, and Austria would instead be enamoured by those of his wonderful ex-wife. 

That particular day, she was wearing her hair differently – instead of leaving it entirely loose as per normal, Hungary had a single, thick braid as a headband. Part of her hair was tied into a high ponytail, while the remainder tumbled down her shoulders in waves. The flowers that usually decorated the side of her head rested on the braid instead, and Austria reached out to stroke them. 

Leaning forward and tilting her head obligingly, Hungary smiled, the expression spreading to her eyes. Austria knew many people with green eyes, but hers – a shade softer than Spain’s passionate emerald, but warmer than Switzerland’s aloof mint – were the most beautiful to him. 

“I met up with Lilli for breakfast earlier, and she ate faster than me, so I let her play with my hair,” Hungary said, running a hand through Liechtenstein’s handiwork. “I really like what she did with it. What do you think?”

“She did a great job. You look amazing, Erzsébet,” said Austria.

Hungary chuckled. “Lilli claimed it was a coincidence that she happened to be carrying so many bands and pins with her. I think she’s actually wanted to play with my hair for a while now, but was too shy to ask. I’m happy to let her do so, though, because she’s so good at it. Lilli is such a sweetheart.” 

The mentions of Liechtenstein only reminded Austria of how it’d been two weeks since he’d slept with her brother, who had left without a word. They’d spoken just once since then – an awkward phone call that dissolved into an argument when Switzerland repeatedly and unconvincingly denied having feelings for Austria. Regret flooded through Austria, and he couldn’t hold back the sigh that escaped his lips. He’d see Switzerland later at the World Meeting, but Austria honestly had no idea what to say to his childhood friend. 

It seemed Austria’s sigh hadn’t escaped Hungary’s notice. Brows creasing in concern, she took Austria’s hand gently. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Taking a few moments to compose himself, Austria sighed again. 

“It’s complicated,” said Austria, looking away. “I would elaborate, but I don’t think the other party would appreciate that. It’d just make things worse if he found out.”

Perhaps someone else would be offended by what they saw as Austria being unwilling to share information with them, but Hungary did not force him to explain himself. While Austria suspected that this was partially because she had some idea of what was going on (Hungary always seemed to know everything about everyone’s love life), he also knew that there was a deep mutual understanding and trust between them. 

This was why Austria and Hungary didn’t care who the other slept with, because they knew their love would never falter. Ultimately, sex was just something physically pleasurable that could be enjoyed with anyone. Love, on the other hand, was exclusive to just the two of them, and both knew from experience that their love could withstand quite a bit.

When they’d been separated years ago – an electric fence drawn up between them, such that Austria could never quite fully see Hungary, or even safely reach through to touch her – neither had strayed, even though it took decades for them to be reunited. Though Austria had known he couldn't protect Hungary from Russia’s cruelty, he’d always wished that he could at least stay by her side. After all, it wasn’t fair that she was the only one in pain. 

If the love of his life had to be punished, then Austria deserved to suffer as well, because they’d once sworn to stay together in sickness and in health, and their divorce didn’t make them any less committed to their wedding vows, or to each other. Even if they were no longer husband and wife, Austria still loved Hungary more than anyone else in the world, and he knew she did as well. 

Back then, Austria and Hungary made an effort to go to the fence at least once a week to see each other. Some days, they’d talk for hours and reminisce about happier times, and she’d laugh, and everything would be all right again. Other days, they didn’t say anything, but Austria and Hungary knew the other was there, and that was enough.

But the worst days were those when Austria walked to the fence and Hungary wasn’t there to meet him. All kinds of terrible images would swirl through his imagination, battering him relentlessly, and Austria sometimes wished he was reckless and impulsive enough to throw everything away and climb over the fence to look for her, because he hated being powerless to help the woman he loved more than the world. 

He came very close at times, but Austria always managed to stop himself before he did something stupid. Each time, he was forced to remind himself that Hungary was tough, and could handle whatever came her way – one of the many things he admired about her – and that trapped behind the Iron Curtain with Hungary was her old friend Prussia. No matter how annoying he could be at times, Austria never doubted that Prussia cared deeply about Hungary and would do as much as he could for her. Besides, Austria had a duty to his country – he couldn’t just throw everything away for the woman he loved. He’d never be able to forgive himself for that, and Austria knew he’d completely lose her respect as well. 

Still, when they met again, Hungary never mentioned why she’d been absent, and Austria knew not to ask. All he could do was to take comfort in the fact that, for the moment, Hungary was safely in his sights, and that he at least had the power to help her remember a world where there had been nothing that could keep them apart.

When the electricity was turned off, Austria could finally reach through the fence, cup Hungary’s cheek, and wipe the tears from her eyes before they fell. Then they laughed harder than they had in a long time, because even this little happiness meant so much after they’d been separated for over thirty years. Hungary took Austria’s hand from her face, kissed it, and carefully extended both her arms through the gaps in the wires. They embraced – the fence was still between them, but it didn’t matter – and cried and laughed in equal measure. 

The fence’s demolition began a month later. Having known all the details in advance, Austria bought a bouquet of geraniums and dressed nicely for the occasion. When he arrived at the location where the fence would first come down, Austria saw Hungary waiting on the other side. Hungary spotted him as well, her eyes lighting up in glee, and Austria couldn’t hold back the wide smile that spread across his face. 

The fence was cut away. Slowly, then all at once, people began streaming from one country to the other. Screaming Austria’s name, Hungary flew into his arms, and the bouquet was forgotten as they dissolved into breathless laughter, hugging tightly to make up for the physical affection they were starved of in the past decades. 

“Roderich, I missed you so much,” whispered Hungary, tearing up as she stroked Austria’s hair. Despite the noise, Austria heard her loud and clear.

“I missed you too, Erzsébet,” he breathed, his heart fluttering in his chest. They kissed, and the world faded away around them as everyone else ceased to be of any importance.

Back then, they hadn’t gone to a World Meeting together for the entire duration of the Cold War, as Russia’s circle had been isolated and unable to meet anyone outside the Iron Curtain. It was a blessing that Austria was able to be in Paris with Hungary, that she was right by his side; a blessing that Austria was determined not to squander.

Hand in hand, Austria and Hungary walked through the streets of Paris, enjoying the sights as much as each other’s company. When he was with Hungary, Austria’s worries usually faded away rather quickly – this time, thoughts of Switzerland and the impending World Meeting became less frequent, and Austria was able to enjoy himself for a while. 

Before too long, Hungary discovered a street piano not too far from the location of the World Meeting, and excitedly pointed it out to Austria. It was something of a tradition for Austria to perform a piece or two whenever they happened across one of them for the first time each visit, and so Austria sat down on the stool and cracked his knuckles. 

What piece suited Paris? After some thought, Austria decided that Tchaikovsky’s Rose Adagio, from the ballet ‘The Sleeping Beauty’, was a good fit. The piece was grand but lively; it told of how the lovely Princess Aurora celebrated her sixteenth birthday, greeting her four suitors respectfully but remaining unmoved by their romantic gestures. Even so, Austria thought the Rose Adagio was fairly romantic – besides, the original fairy tale was French – and therefore matched the City of Love rather well.

Yet, Austria found that he couldn’t focus on his playing. It seemed like all his senses were working in combination to sabotage his musicality – Austria’s eye was drawn to Hungary, his ears to the footsteps of passers-bye; the sweet scent of roses from a nearby florists’ clouded his mind; Austria’s mouth was dry, and he found himself merely pressing keys instead of floating with the music. 

And even as Austria tried to focus on the piece, he found himself growing even more attuned to his surroundings. Gradually, Austria became aware that he could recognise some of the people passing by, even though his eyes remained determinedly fixed on the keyboard in front of him. His heart started to race – Austria didn’t know whether his imagination was taking him for a spin, or if the nations he identified really were so close by. It was like a dream, but Austria was certain that he was awake; nevertheless, he could only play on, submitting his body to the whim of his mind. 

Somewhere behind him, Austria thought he heard a familiar laugh ring out. His ex-husband reached out and tousled his boyfriend Romano’s hair, teasing the younger man as they passed Austria, their footsteps fading into the distance. 

Right after they’d vanished, Austria could have sworn he’d registered the silky voice of his occasional lover, who was currently trying his hardest to fluster his beloved England with lewd jokes; they disappeared as well, England’s embarrassed reply lost to the streets of Paris.

Soon after, Austria identified the obnoxious hissing laughter he thought he heard as belonging to a certain silver-haired man that he’d only slept with because of drunkenness. Even so, as that person strolled by, giving his brother Germany joking advice on how to romance Italy, Austria knew there were many things to be respected about him.

Then, Austria instantly recognised the confident step and quick pace of his childhood friend. He walked with his sister Liechtenstein by his side, faltering when he caught sight of Austria – even though Austria desperately wanted to speak with him, he didn’t dare to turn and see the expression on his friend’s face – and, just like that, the moment was gone, and Austria’s first friend hurried past, his sister struggling to keep up with him.

Reeling from the vividness of what he thought was his imagination, Austria played the final notes of the Rose Adagio, breathing heavily and wildly guessing at whether what he’d perceived was actually reality. When he finally tore his gaze from the keyboard and looked around, Austria saw a few people watching him, but none of the nations he’d identified were anywhere nearby. 

Hungary was the only person that Austria recognised. Grinning at him, she began clapping appreciatively, joined by a handful of passers-by who’d been listening to Austria’s performance. After nodding to acknowledge them, Austria turned to Hungary once more. 

Normally, whenever he looked at her, Austria’s attention was drawn to the soft caramel locks that gently tumbled down Hungary’s back and framed her face. Now, though, Austria was lost in the depths of his love’s beautiful green eyes, trapped by her lovely lips that were curved in a smile, and left utterly helpless to hold back the flush that attacked his cheeks. 

Even though he’d slept with four other nations, two of whom were legendary in bed, Austria always enjoyed his time with Hungary the most. With her, he was able to give a real meaning to the term ‘making love’, as there was something special between them that Austria didn’t share with anyone else. 

_Liebe_.

If Austria’s four other lovers could be clumsily represented in the Rose Adagio – they’d danced together, but without feeling – that still left Hungary out. The moment when the Prince arrived onstage would come eventually; but instead of letting the fantasy of the ballet continue, Austria knew what he had to do. 

He was still unsure whether the appearance of his four partners had been a reality or instead a product of his imagination, but at the moment, Austria would continue to dream – this time, of the woman he prized beyond anything the world could offer. 

_Liebestraum_ – a dream of love. 

Regardless of his motivation for performing a piece, Austria would let the music’s emotions and passages sweep him off his feet, allowing his body to be used as a vessel to bring out the beauty of each note. Perhaps he’d allow some of his own feelings to seep into his rendition, but Austria rarely attempted to make a piece of music his own. 

If Austria’s performances were typically love letters to the composers, his renditions of Liebestraum No. 3 were dedicated to not only the Hungarian Franz Liszt, but to the virtuoso’s country as well. This was a piece that Austria had played again and again over the years, because it made him think of Hungary. 

When words failed him, Austria would perform Liebestraum to show Hungary that, when he dreamt of love, she was the only person that came to mind. When Hungary was far away, Austria would turn to the piano and let it cry out for her in his stead.

And so, with Hungary’s eyes on him, Austria sat down before the street piano once more, and raised his hands, prepared to express his love for her in a way that only he could.

He played. 

Tenderly, lovingly, the melody flowed from his fingertips. Each time the tone shifted – whether the notes shyly rose and dipped, or the dynamics swelled in passion – Austria thought of Hungary, and shared his love for the whole world to see. 

At times, Austria caressed the melody, unwilling to let it slip through his fingers; at other times, he darted through each note, chasing his _Liebestraum_ in earnest. In Austria’s dream, Hungary had the omnipresence of a goddess – she was everywhere at once, whispering within the wind, smiling out at him from the shadows between the trees, and kissing him with the rain that fell sweet on his tongue. Looking about him wildly, Austria cried out his love for Hungary, weaving his feelings into his playing – as the last few notes rang out, she finally appeared, and Austria ran headlong into her warm, welcoming arms. Even as he held her close in his mind’s eye, reality slowly returned to Austria’s senses, and the world around him gradually regained its colour and physicality once more. 

Even so, before Austria could fully awaken, the spell was soundly shattered by the loud applause that broke out all around him. Dazed, he looked around for Hungary, and saw that her eyes shone with happy tears, and that her face was flushed with joy – it seemed that Austria’s feelings had been heard loud and clear. Before Austria could go over and kiss her, he thought he heard Prussia for the second time that day, and forced himself to tear his gaze from Hungary.

To Austria’s amazement, he found that Prussia really was standing there, clapping slowly and making a comment to Germany…who, for the matter, was also right there, not to mention Spain or France, or a good portion of the nations who would be at the World Meeting later. Austria supposed that their presence had something to do with the proximity of the meeting’s location, but he preferred to think that the love in his music had moved everyone deeply enough for them to go out of their way to find him. 

Some nations, like Prussia and England, left without saying a thing to Austria; others, such as Italy and France, walked up to Austria and praised him, or asked about the music. For once, Austria couldn’t care less – Hungary was beaming at him, seeming almost unable to contain her happiness, and Austria was dying to kiss her right there and then. 

Yet, when Austria saw Switzerland linger (his childhood friend glanced at Hungary, and Switzerland’s normally piercing gaze grew clouded with emotion) Austria knew he had to hold on for just a bit longer. Taking Hungary’s hand, Austria led her away – he didn’t know where he was going, but it didn’t matter – and soon, they had left everyone they knew behind. 

They still weren’t alone, but Austria and Hungary didn’t care any longer. Giggling, Hungary reached out to playfully tug a blushing Austria closer, and his hands slowly slid from her arms to the curve of her waist. 

And then, finally, Austria kissed Hungary. Time seemed to stop; the entire world coalesced into Hungary’s body, and she became the universe. Nothing else mattered, or even continued to exist: neither the people looking on, nor the fact that Austria and Hungary were running late to the World Meeting. Embracing Hungary, Austria tethered himself to her – she was a free spirit, but Austria’s love grounded her and cried out when she strayed too far – and as their souls touched and joined as one, Austria made Hungary his for just a few moments. 

And, for just a little while, Austria and Hungary forgot about being nations, and simply enjoyed being swept away together by the romance of Paris. 

When they pulled away, the two burst into laughter, and gazed at each other tenderly.

“Roderich?”

“Yes, Erzsébet?”

“I love you.” Hungary looked deeply into Austria’s eyes, seeking the warm affection that she knew she would find. 

The smile on Austria’s lips widened irrepressibly.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic! It was inspired by KellerProcess' lovely Nyotalia fic "Ten Nations France has Loved", which you should definitely check out. If you liked this fic (or, well, even if you didn't), do leave a review and tell me what you think. Thanks for reading this far! If you were wondering about the loose end regarding Austria's relationship with Switzerland, I like to think that Switzerland moved on eventually, and they became good friends once more. Maybe he and Prussia could start dating! :)


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